Nothing is ever so Simple
by Iamjustarandomperson
Summary: Following two young protectors through the destruction of earth, and the events that followed, with the Frackin' Universe modpack as reality. Naturally, I will be drifting from canon, and going into detail on some of the technology and society bits, as well as updating my tags as the story develops. This is my first fanfiction, and I hope it isn't too bad.
1. Chapter 1

_Starbound is the property of Chucklefish Games._

 _Frackin' Universe is an awesome, in-depth modification for Starbound that adds all new depth into the game. I highly encourage you, reader, to play the game with or without the mod, however you choose._

* * *

 _Authors note: I will be drifting away from canon of the original game and will be going into a bit more depth on some of the details. They will either be encompassed in (many) footnotes at the bottom of each chapter, or in special chapters that delve into the fluff exclusively._

 _I will update the tags as I write._

* * *

Chapter One: on that infamous day…

"… _wake up_..."

"…..Wake up. You have overslept…again." The voice of P.A.I.L. (1) finally caused Murian Courn to stir from her bunk. The young human woman raised her head, and then blinked a few times before her eyes shot wide. _Shit! I'm late!_ She rolled out of bed and was hoping to land deftly on her fingertips and toes.

That isn't exactly what happened.

In her momentary panic, Murian had forgotten that when she tosses and turns in her sleep, the comforters in her bunk have a habit wrapping her in a soft, sleep-inducing cocoon. It is this cocoon that kept her limbs pinned to her body as she rolled, and fell, from the lower bunk, tumbling onto the floor with a graceless 'thump'. Groaning in embarrassment, she looked around the (mercifully empty) dorm, eventually spotting the clock above the door to the hallway, and sighing in relief. _9:45, I haven't missed the graduation yet._

Murian Courn was a human woman with a pale complexion, modest height, and a strong looking frame (curtesy of the academy's training regimen). Her dark brown hair was surprisingly straight given her current state of wakefulness. She had round features and unremarkable brown eyes.

There was no time to shower or groom, however. Murian hastily distangled herself from her comforters, and tossed them haphazardly into a pile on the small bed, mentally noting to make the bed after the ceremony. She reached into the drawers adjacent to her bunk, and pulled out one of several shoddily folded uniforms, a blue one (2) today, and went into one of the three bathrooms in the room to change.

After a moment, Murian emerged in her blue protectorate uniform, and ran a hand through her hair and securing it with a hairband as she jogged out into the foyer. She had a graduation ceremony to catch.

"Running a bit late, aren't you, Ms. Courn." Mr. Pax, one of the instructors (3), spoke after her as she passed, hardly looking up from the article he was currently enamored in. Murian gave the Apex a passing wave, but otherwise ignored him.

Across the room, she paused at a vending machine, giving a nod to the perturbed avian standing in front of it.

"Hey Nalih, what got stuck in the vending machine this time?" Murian spoke. The Avian looked up, and at her. His features brightened at her approach. "Oh, hey Muri." He greeted, "You're up early."(4)

"Late, and in a hurry, actually." Murian remarked, "As I said, what's the machine getting stuck on this time?"

"Oculemonade." (5) Nalih told her, and sure enough, leaning on the glass panel was a can of the beverage, stuck at the edge of its aisle. Murian shrugged, "that sucks." And placed her own pixels into the machine, successfully buying a more traditional cola. "Ah, soda, truly a healthy breakfast for a busy protector." he needled her.

"Bite me." Murian grinned as she turned to leave.

"You'd taste bad!" the avian called after her.

Murian left the common room, and strode into the foyer of the academy, quaffing the soda and disposing of it as she went. The foyer was open, allowing the natural light of the sun sift its way through the surrounding skyscrapers and passing shuttles. The open air and foliage granted an aura of beauty seldom achieved in Earth cities anymore. Pink flower petals costed on the breeze from the Protectorate Tree (6), which stood stoutly in the center. A hylotl of murky green coloration sat upon one of the surrounding benches, eyes closed in serene calm. As Murian cut through the greens and passed, she waved the young woman over. "Sit with me a moment, would you?" she beckoned, "I promise it won't be long."

Murian hesitated, but after a moment of thought, relented, sitting beside the hylotl in curiosity.

"How can I help?" Murian offered. The hylotl woman chuckled, her voice betrayed her world-weariness.

"'How can I help?' is indeed the question any good protector should be accustomed with." The hylotl spoke, seemingly more to herself than to the woman who sat beside her.

"So…what DO you need?" Murian queried uncertainly, looking around. The hylotl woman beside her sighed almost imperceptibly.

"The protectorate is always asking that." She mused, more pointedly this time, "Eventually they will need to answer the question for themselves. What do THEY need?"

Murian let out a dejected breath, "If there's no point to this, I really have to get going-"

"Do you see that flower?" The hylotl asked abruptly, silently indicating a defiantly blossoming plant in the green. It was a stout, four-petaled piece, bluish violet in hue, and fully blooming seemingly in spite of the surrounding grass and cool early spring.

"Yes, the green's usually full of them by next month." She answered, not entirely sure where the hylotl woman was going with this.

"By next month, that flower won't be among them." She now turned to Murian, "There has never been a flower like this one ever before and there will never be one like it ever again. As with all things, life goes on, and everything will die or fade away at some point or another." She spoke, than she took one of the younger woman's hands in her own. "But remember, not all life is loss and remembering the past." She told Murian with quiet conviction, "as the old die and fade, having made their mark on the universe, new life will always grow to take its place, making its own equally significant marks; not as a continuation of what was, but something new, something that will be."

She let go of Murian's hand, letting it drop to the bench before indicating the flower again. "Take that flower with you, and remember that through it as you traverse the stars." Murian looked over at the flower and hesitated. "Go on, you won't be fined(7). I promise." the Hylotl woman encouraged her, giving the younger woman a warm smile. Murian did eventually reach down and pluck the hearty little flower, placing the stem into her side pocket, and patting it for safekeeping.

As she turned to continue on her way, she gave a semi-bow to the Hylotl on the bench, her gratitude unsaid, but still received. Murian then turned and began jogging to the doorway opposite from the one she came.

"You're really cutting it close Murian, hurry into the auditorium, the ceremony is about to start." One of the faculty told her as she arrived. She did just that, finding her place in line with the other graduates. _Not a moment too soon._ She thought as the crowd quieted and the current Grand Protector, Leda Portia began to speak.

"My fellow protectors, today we come together to witness the Terrene Protectorate(8) grow." Grand Protector Maven's voice resounded from behind the side of the curtain.

"For over five hundred years, we have stood proud here on Earth, drawing together races of all kinds in the name of peace."

"Our task: to protect our fellow beings, to support, house, and educate those that seek our aid, and to foster accord between those that aspire to it." Maven recited from the protectorate manual(9). _Just out and admit it already, we're space cops,_ Murian thought acidly, wisely refraining from vocalizing that in front of her fellow graduates and academy staff.

"Today, in the name of peace, we welcome our newest compatriots, and present them each with our greatest tool!" there was a pause, "The matter manipulator(10)." The Grand Protector than produced one of the tools, presumably of several, from within the podium, held it up for the audience (and cameras) to see, and began calling up the graduates to receive them. Student by student, the line in front of Murian began to dwindle as they were called to join the ranks of the protectors.

"Murian Courn!" her name was called, and she stepped up onto the stage, and had made it halfway to the podium where a smiling grand protector stood.

A massive, resounding impact caused the room, the building to shudder uncontrollably.

Amid the confused protectors, Leda looked around. "What in the-" Her words were interrupted as tentacles the size of tree trunks erupted from the floors and walls of the auditorium, flinging the occupants about as though they were toys. Both Murian and the grand protector stood motionless, agape in incomprehensible horror as debris fell around them.

"…God preserve us…" Leda breathed.

Their moment of stunned terror was short-lived when one such tentacle pierced the floor of the stage, scattering the podium and manipulators, lifting the grand protector into the air. She eyed Murian as the tentacle began to constrict.

"…take…a manipulator..." She choked at the terrified graduate, "…get..ou-" was all she could get out before Murian heard a series of sickening cracks and pops, and the grand protector went limp in the tentacles grasp.

Drawn out of her stunned state, Murian now only had escape on her mind. She broke into a dogged sprint, scooping up one of the scattered manipulators, and turning it on as she ran.

She sighted her first obstacle to escape; the hallway was blocked off by what was presumably once a decorative topiary garden collapsed from the floor above. Hardly slowing down, she switched on the manipulator in her hands, used it to weaken the impromptu barrier, and shouldered her way through without a moment's thought.

" _Murian, the next room is flooded completely. You will have to use the maintenance tunnel to get to the bridge to the starport._ " P.A.I.L. stated matter-of-factly in the woman's head. In response, she ran to the hallway's system access door (11) and kicked the flimsy portal in. Scrambling up the cramped ladder as quickly as she could, she made her way outside, onto the roof, and then she paused, eyes widened in shock and horror.

The entire city was being torn apart.

As far as Murian could see, skyscrapers all around the city were being taken apart, ruined, or simply being beaten down by titanic tentacles that completely dwarfed the ones that broke apart the auditorium. Fire and smoke abounded in pillars, and even the sky held a fleshy orange-red hue as proper for an apocalypse. Ships flew overhead trying to control the damage, or, more frequently, were flying up in an effort to break atmosphere. Violet-hued beams were shooting up into the sky, carving gashes into buildings and craft as they went.

Strangely, the stark terror that possessed Murian in the auditorium began to subside, and a dissonant, detached calm was left in its wake. The young protector spurred herself into motion once again, hardly pausing as she passed the broken body of a Hylotl in Protectorate uniform; presumably, one of the graduation-goers who was flung from their seat with contemptuous ease, and had the good luck to die on their landing.

 _I'm so sorry…_ Shaking her head for focus, Murian dropped down on top of the sky-way to the dock, and jumped inside it through a gouge that was torn into the top. Rolling as she landed, she forced open the door to the academy's stardock (12).

Before she could make it through the secondary door (13) to the stardock proper, a tentacle burst from the ground, considerably smaller than the others she had seen up to this point, merely twice her height in length this time. A wave of panic washed over her, and, without little thought, Murian grabbed the first thing she could find, a heavily damaged protectorate longsword (14) that was leaning on one of the freight scanners. With tears streaming down her frightened features, she hacked at the base of the obstructing appendage, tearing the blade out in a draw cut. The sword was somewhat awkward in her hands as she also held the manipulator, but it sufficed for this purpose. A second hack at the tentacle severed it completely, sending the writhing limb toppling to the floor.

Nimbly dodging the fallen tentacle, Murian at last entered the stardock proper, and growled in frustration. The bay was almost entirely devoid of ships, having undoubtedly been evacuated in the ensuing catastrophe. The only ship left was a Jay-class modular shuttle that was pockmarked in battle damage already (15). It would have to do.

Evidently, P.A.I.L. came to a similar confusion, as the ships thrusters began to start up. " _I have bypassed the securities on that ship, and am assuming control._ " The shuttle lifted from the deck, and turned its broadside to her, a loading door sliding open to allow her entry. In a deft motion, Murian leapt aboard, and looked back out the door. As the shuttle began to pull away, and the door began to close, Murian spotted another figure running frantically for the ship as the building itself began to shudder.

"P.A.I.L. wait! There's someone coming!" Not waiting for a reply, the young protector tossed her manipulator and sword further into the cabin, and waited at the still-open cargo door, trying to wave over the sprinting man, as though it would make him run faster. Meanwhile, the shuttle began to hover just outside the exit of the collapsing bay. When the man, reached the edge, he leapt from the edge in a desperate effort to get aboard.

It took all of Murian's reflexes to grab his outstretched arm, and all of her strength to avoid letting go, or falling out, herself. The young man, presumably a cadet or graduate, managed to grab ahold of the ledge of the floor and, with Murian's help, scramble aboard, hyperventilating in terror as he did so.

The shuttle's cargo door slid shut and the humming of the engines told them that the ship was in motion, and the steadily rising note of a strained hyperdrive spooling up set their teeth on edge (16). Glancing at each other in a fresh surge of alarm, the two dashed for the cockpit of the ship. They weren't fast enough, however, as the shuttle lurched into hyperspace, tossing the helpless duo back into the wall. When Murian slammed into the back, stars danced past her eyes, and darkness loomed on the edges of her vision, creeping forth as the force of inertia pressed upon them, denying her breath, and, eventually, consciousness.

* * *

 _Footnotes_ [I know there are a lot of them, but I really like world-building]:

(1): P.A.I.L. stands for Personal Artificial Intelligence Lattice. These are wireless aids issued to protectors, usually storing themselves in computers embedded in protectorate uniforms. A protector's badge or ID usually contains a miniaturized sensor suite for them.

(2): The color of a protector's uniform more or less indicates their role. Many students don't adhere to this, though, until they graduate. As Murian trained for security and hostile operations, she should be wearing a red uniform, rather than the blue one usually worn by protectorate aerospace pilots.

(3): Mr. Pax was one of the Foreign Cultures instructors for the academy. Murian considered him her favorite instructor, but the feeling was far from mutual.

(4): Murian has a habit of sleeping in, despite several alarms, when she doesn't have any early assignments or lessons the next day.

(5): Oculemonade is a tart drink made from oculemon, a plant that almost perfectly resembles eyeballs. The plant, itself was a byproduct of protectorate and floran greenfinger research in developing cultivated organs or prosthetics, instead yielding a tangy, if odd looking, citrus fruit.

(6): The Protectorate tree is a symbol of peace from the New Hylotl Hierarchy after the Protectorate aided their fledgling defense force against the florans, who had nearly wiped them out some time before. The Hierarchy-Floran war remains the only conflict in history in which the Protectorate actually mobilized its expeditionary force for wartime.

(7): Normally, picking flowers from the foyer green when they're in bloom will net the violator a 500 pixel fine. Like skipping a train ticket, the risk is generally not worth it to most.

(8): The Protectorate, officially the Terrene Protectorate, is one of the five current interstellar superpowers (six if you include the combined Floran Tribes). The superpowers are: The Terrene Protectorate, The Great Empire of Kluex, The New Hylotl Hierarchy, The Miniknog Regime, and The Bearing Confederation. There are also numerous less-powerful independent states in the galaxy.

(9): While the manual preaches the protectorate being composed of humanitarian saviors, most Protectorate duties generally revolve around peacekeeping, mediation of conflicts, and pirate hunting. This puts them in an arms-length relationship with some of the more expansionist factions of known space.

(10): The matter manipulator is one of many pieces of technology exclusive to the Protectorate, as well as open-point teleportation (teleportation not requiring two distinct arrays). It is capable of gathering and storing large amounts of raw materials to be uploaded to a fine manipulation interface, where components can be 3d printed. While the Protectorate is dwarfed in size by the other superpowers, it has a major technological edge on all of them.

(11): Most city buildings on earth at this point are large enough to require their own sets of tunnels to maintain their systems.

(12): The Protectorate academy also acts as one of several bases on Earth, with full facilities for the repair and maintenance of Protectorate Expeditionary and Defense Navy starships.

(13): Here we can surmise that Murian is in one of several security checkpoints that separate the stardock from the rest of the academy. These rooms tend to be shielded and heavily fortified, as to mitigate damage from potential attack.

(14): Swords, and other melee weapons have made resurgence in military use since the discovery of zerchesium-based compounds, which was only amplified by the subsequent introduction of durasteel from first contact with the glitch. Both substances are suitable for armor that can take a great deal more punishment than previous conventional armor.

(15): The _Protectorate Service Starship_ ( _PSS) Fair Day_ had docked for repairs after responding to a false distress signal, and being subsequently ambushed by pirates.

(16): Jumping from within an atmosphere is extremely dangerous. As the sudden acceleration and resulting atmospheric turbulence can strain the engine, damage the stardrive (the part of a ship that allows for FTL), put wear on the hull, and seriously injure the crew. P.A.I.L. may have calculated that their best odds for survival were to perform such a jump, as the already damaged shuttle would never have made it into orbit. Contrary to popular belief, though, such a jump does not cause a titanic explosion on the planet in question, though it does produce a sonic boom and form a very interesting contrail.

* * *

 _Authors note: I hope this isn't an unreadable mess._

 _Unfortunately, with college starting, I have utterly no idea when the next chapter will be finished._

 _Constructive criticism would be very appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

_Starbound is the property of Chucklefish Games._

 _Frackin' Universe is an awesome, in-depth modification for Starbound that adds all new depth into the game. I highly encourage you, reader, to play the game with or without the mod, however you choose._

 _Chapter 2: Destination Unknown_

* * *

Everything hurt.

Murian stirred, but the aching of her entire body persisted. The gnawing pain reminded her that she was alive, that they (or she at least) had escaped the disaster on earth,

And that she was ravenously hungry.

"P.A.I.L.?" she whimpered, cracking open her eyes, and forcing her creaking limbs into motion. A murmur drew her tentative gaze to the front, where the only light within the ship faintly glowed.

Using the wall to support her, Murian stumbled weakly through the darkened room, until, eventually, she reached the dim, light blue panel. On the screen was a prompt, and a rendered gear. The console quietly spoke again,

"Please reboot the system."(1)

Dazed, Murian pressed her finger against the prompt on the screen. Almost instantly, the ship came to life. A low hum began throughout the cabin, and the room was bathed in off-white light. It was a bare-bones affair, with a scuffed, ridged metal floor, and walls paneled in dull-gray plastic. On the screen, an A.I. avatar shown, vaguely humanoid in shape, and began to speak.

"Greetings, Murian. I am now your ship-based artificial intelligence lattice, or S.A.I.L. (2)" It stated in a synthetic voice. "Damage to the ship is extensive. Navigation is non-functional. The stardrive is non-functional. The teleporter is non-functional. Star-charts are unavailable. The Fine Manipulation Interface is operational (3). Recommended action is to land on the planet we are currently in orbit of, and acquire materials and aid." It told her.

"Is there any food aboard the ship?" Murian pleaded quietly, wincing as the dull ache made itself especially known in her stomach. Her ear caught a slight shuffle the way she came, and she turned to see the man stir slightly, features pressed in pain as he did so.

He looked thin-built, with light skin, blood-matted blond hair, and a thin, almost angular face, which was partially obscured by red lines that reached down and began to stain his collar a coppery brown. He wore a yellow Protectorate uniform, which would normally peg him out as a science officer.

"Emergency supplies are stored in the aft cabin of the ship." S.A.I.L. answered, and without bothering to check further, Murian began feebly stepping over to what she assumed was the aft. She paused as she passed the stirring form of the man she had rescued, and noting his blood-caked head wound, catching a slightly metallic scent as she did so.

"Any medical supplies on board?(4)" She wondered aloud as she started walking again, stepping over the damaged sword she had discarded earlier.

"The middle locker on the starboard side of the cabin contains a medical kit and an exposure trauma kit (5)." S.A.I.L. told her, "The left adjacent one contains prepackaged meals and water."

"Good." She sighed. She pulled out the medical kit, as well as a nondescript plastic-wrapped tray and small water bottle from the locker opposite. She walked tiredly back to where the man still slumped against the wall. _I may not be a medic, but I can clean a wound_ (6) _._

Murian kneeled to the side of the man, and spoke in a voice she hoped was calming. "Please hold still, you've hit your head, and I need to clean up the blood to see how bad the damage is." He seemed to understand her words, or at least her intent, well enough to comply. Murian set to removing the majority of the man's formerly blond, blood-matted hair with a pair of small, sharp scissors, wiping the drying blood away with a clean, damp cloth from the kit. Eventually, she uncovered a shallow, but broad gash on his temple, silently oozing blood.

"Do you think you can answer some questions for me? This looks like a surface cut, but we shouldn't take any chances with a head wound."

"…..ugh…." the man groaned, his eyes still screwed shut. _He's moving, at least._

After a moment, she paused her handiwork, and leaned in front of him. "Can you hear me?" she asked in a calm, clear tone. At this point, his eyes cracked open, and met her own.

"I…y-yeah…" the man muttered, nodding slightly.

"Good." Murian continued, now sifting through the medical kit for antibiotics "Can you tell me your name?" she asked.

The man drew in a sharp breath as a patch was pressed to the wound. "M-Morton." He exhaled, "Morton Ramsey."

"That's a nice name, Morton." She quietly lied. _What kind of name is Morton?_ She thought as she began to wrap his head in dressing, placing Morton's fingers to the clotting patch. "Hold that there, please."

After a short moment, Murian spoke again. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?" she quietly asked.

"You pulling me into the ship before we were thrown back." Morton replied automatically. "Did you have any idea what was going on, at the academy?" he started.

"I-I don't know." Murian quickly shook her head, a hint of strain broke in her voice. With a safety pin (7), she finished securing the dressing on Morton's head. Having done what she could about Morton's injury, her attention now focused solely on the pre-packaged meal she brought with her. Its mushy texture and salted factory taste were barely noted as Murian ate with ravenous abandon.

"Right then," Morton changed the subject, looking over at the formerly sealed tray of food that Murian now tore into. "…Are…there any other of those meals?" he asked, and the woman paused.

"Oh! Uh…I think so." She mumbled uncertainly, "I'll get you one." She stood up from her half-finished meal, and went back to the lockers, returning with another prepackaged meal and another bottle of water.

"Thank you." Morton muttered as he eagerly took the offered meal and water. "I, uh, never caught your name." he told her after taking a draw of water.

The woman looked up from her meal, "Um, my name's Murian, Murian Courn." She told him. Her own aches were beginning to ebb, and her strength seemed to be returning by some measure. After finishing her meal, the woman stood up, and walked to another monitor embedded in the wall, empty bottle and tray in hand. Small letters on the rim of the monitor read 'Winslow/Naomi Technical Model 7.8p Fine Matter Manipulation Interface', and beside the screen were several alcoves built into the shuttle's walls. Murian placed the empty tray and bottle in one of the chambers, and pressed the screen a few times. A second later, a plastic sheet closed over the alcove, and the bottle and tray hissed as they dissolved within. She then leaned against the wall, and slid down to a sit in exhaustion.

After a short while, she was stirred from her ruminations by a similar hissing noise, and she looked up to meet Morton's gaze. "What do we do?" he asked, uncertainty painted across his face.

Murian looked over at S.A.I.L.'s console; "Pa-er, S.A.I.L, what was the recommended course of action again?" she called out. On the other side of the room, she could faintly see the avatar on the console turn to acknowledge her.

The cabin's speakers answered her, "Recommended action is to land on the planet we are currently in orbit of, and acquire materials and aid."

Murian looked back at Morton, "That's what we do." She spoke, an air of resolve in her voice. "C'mon, let's head to the command seats."

Murian settled into the front-most seat, while Morton buckled himself into one behind and to the right of her. The damaged longsword was leaning on the arm of her chair, and the matter manipulator, now sporting a fresh scuff mark from its impact with the wall, lay in Morton's lap. He looked at it semi-certainly.

"S.A.I.L., can you steer this ship toward any settlements or civilization on the surface?"

"Affirmative, Murian. I have also been broadcasting a distress signal since you reset the ship's systems." The synthetic voice responded. "Estimated time to landing is five hours."

"Good." Murian affirmed, turning to Morton, "We should get some sleep while we can, you especially, with that head wound." She indicated the dressing wrapped around his head.

At that, Murian settled into her chair, and closed her eyes, one question paramount in her mind. _How in hells name did this happen?_

* * *

 _Footnotes_

(1): When an artificial intelligence lattice assumes control of an especially large, complex, or delicate piece of compatible (protectorate-designed) hardware, they generally require a reset to avoid glitches and run smoothly.

(2): Much like P.A.I.L.s to the protectors themselves, protectorate ships are often equipped with at least one S.A.I.L. to assist in minor duties, and even fly the ship if required. As most protectorate ships can carry several S.A.I.L.s, it is likely that Murian's is not the only one present.

(3): The Fine Matter Manipulation Interface, or Fine Manipulation Interface, is a valuable piece of protectorate technology, which allows for the storage, arrangement, and printing of tools and components from raw materials, given enough energy, the right materials, and compatible templates. The matter manipulator is able to connect to it, and can transfer raw materials from suspension within the manipulator, directly into the interface.

(4): Protectorate, and indeed, most interstellar ships, will have some form of emergency medical supplies aboard. The extent of these stores depends on the kind of ship.

(5): 'Exposure trauma' in this case refers to vacuum exposure. Unsurprisingly, most ships have these as well, to some extent.

(6): Basic first aid training is taught to all protectorate cadets, without exception. Dedicated medics and doctors will receive more extensive medical training.

(7): Even in the future, safety pins are still occasionally seen in first aid kits. More common, though, is bandaging and dressing with activated adhesives.

* * *

 _Authors note: Sorry it took so long to upload, and re-upload this chapter (I really should get an editor). Again, I'm not sure when I'll get the next part uploaded, given I am still in the middle of my college semester._

 _As it turns out, I may be incorporating other mods, like Frackin' Races, into the world as I try to develop it._

 _Constructive criticism would be appreciated, at your convenience, of course._


	3. Chapter 3

_Starbound is the property of Chucklefish Games._

 _Frackin' Universe is an awesome, in-depth modification for Starbound that adds all new depth into the game. I highly encourage you, reader, to play the game with or without the mod, however you choose._

* * *

 _Chapter 3: Chiron Wake II (Part 1)_

* * *

Murian awoke to the rumble of re-entry. Looking out the front window of the cockpit, she saw the stars begin to diminish through a haze of red-hot atmosphere. She turned her head to where Morton sat, to see him resting peacefully in spite of the turbulence. _How does he sleep through reentry?_

She turned back to the front, where her fingers moved lazily across the interface before her. She tapped a small caricature of a planet, which grew to fill the cockpit window. After a few more offhand motions that caricature magnified to a specific point; a portion of the surface, a dotted line, and a dot labeled 'PSS Fair Day' slowly moving along it.(1) Details of the planet's conditions were listed beside it, stating that it was a lush terrestrial world with nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere.

"S.A.I.L.," Murian asked, "Are there actually any current settlements on this world?"

"There are no currently inhabited settlements on this planet." (2) came the automatic reply. "However, there are abandoned settlements present, as well as a discontinued archeological site, formerly registered with the Terrene Archeological Corps." (3)

"Really, now?" she mused for a moment, "Can the ship land at the archeological site?"

"Negative" S.A.I.L. said. "The site shows signs of extensive overgrowth, but there are several viable landing zones nearby. They will appear on the screen momentarily." After a short moment, the images on the cockpit shifted to a square blue map of one region. In the center was a small incomplete archway icon, labeled 'Archeological site #334165'. Around the designated ruin were several highlighted areas, each labeled a number '1' through '6'.

Scrutinizing the screen for a moment, Murian leaned forward and pointed. "Site two, can you land us there?" she asked.

"Affirmative, adjusting course…" S.A.I.L. said. The map that formerly covered the windscreen of the cockpit shrunk to a small corner to the side.

By now, the pink-red glow of reentry had begun to subside into the relative clarity of the planet's atmosphere. Near the bottom of the cockpit, she could see the distant green forests and plains below, slowly rising to meet them as the ship glided to its destination. After a while, Murian could recognize individual trees in greater and greater detail.

Eventually, the ravaged shuttle slowed to a tilted hover (4), descending below the trees. Once it was within a meter of touching down, it dropped gracelessly to its side, settling into the ground at an angle. After a second, S.A.I.L.'s synthetic voice spoke again.

"Landing Complete. This ship may not be capable of taking off again without repair."

"That should be fine for now." Murian said, turning to see Morton stirring in his chair.

"Is everything alright? Are we hit?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes.

"No, we just touched down on the surface." She told him.

"That was a _landing_?" he asked incredulously.

Murian looked back to the screen, before fiddling with her seatbelt. "You saw the ship, Morton, not to mention us going FTL in atmosphere." The straps retreated into their alcoves. "It's a miracle we even made re-entry." She leaned over to pick up the longsword; it had clattered to the floor when the shuttle 'landed'.

Sword in hand, she turned to face Morton, who was now unbuckling himself from his own chair. "Hold up," she stopped him, "I need to check your head wound. Let me get the first aid kit."

After changing out the bandages around Morton's head, she brought out another pair of pre-packaged meals. They ate in the cockpit as Murian pulled up the map on the wind-screen. "Alright, so we're currently landed in a small group of settlements, specifically, site two." she said between bites, pointing to the area on the map. "The two closest areas of civilization, both abandoned by the way, are a mine," she pointed out one dot on the map, "and an old PArCorps site here."(5) Her finger moved across the screen to the virtual arch in the center. "Now I'm thinking we should hit the mine for raw materials to try to fix the ship, or at least get comms up again. What are your thoughts?" she turned to Morton, who had an eyebrow raised as he studied the map.

"I'm actually thinking we should investigate the ruin first." He said. "If that's an old PArCorps site, we might find more intact supplies that might be left over, possibly an installation, or comms prefab." He said as he squinted at the map. "Depending on the site, we could find something useful in the ruins themselves." (6)

"Hmm, good point." She conceded. "We should hit the mine after, though."

"Yeah, we can do that." He nodded, before he perked up, "Oh, you got your AV's, right?" (7)

"Of course I did." She answered, stepping over to the doorway of the cabin. "They're required for service. C'mon, let's get some meals for the road."

They stepped into the main cabin, which now sat at an angle. On the ceiling, one of the lights was flickering, bathing the broad room in a nauseous off-white. The two walked across, and each taken a few more of the pre-packaged meals in hand, before making their way to the shuttle's cargo door. "S.A.I.L., can you open the door?" She asked.

"Affirmative Murian, I will assist in your navigation to the archeological site." came the synthetic response.

Several mechanisms within the door creaked and clunked into place, and there was a sharp hiss as the ship's atmosphere equalized with the one outside. As the hiss faded, and the door began to slide open with a grinding screech.

As it opened, Murian and Morton covered their eyes as they were bathed in dusty golden sunlight. As they opened their eyes, they simply stared.

Brown-trunked trees rose from the grass, blue-green leaves growing from their branches. The grass itself lightly rippled, and occasionally a flower peeked between the blades. Beams of morning sunlight were made visible by the mist in the clearing, and shown off the dewdrops in the grass like a million tiny gems. The calls of a handful of birds skipped out over the clearing, their calls gradually bringing the pair from their stunned stupor.

Murian struggled to find words. "The…I…uh…" she breathed, her eyes darting about.

"Sweet mercy…" Morton muttered.

Eventually, he remembered why they were there again, and shook his head. "C'mon." They then stepped out of the shuttle. The ground was soft and porous.

"Murian," a small voice spoke from her badge spoke aloud, "The archeological site is orbitally (8) north-east of your position."

"Uhh, right then." She reoriented after making a few small gestures and equations to herself. "Let's head out. We can talk along the way."

As they turned to leave, Morton glanced back at their ship. Its otherwise copper-red and grey hull was adorned with scratches, pockmarks, and ripples in the outer plating. The majority of its front was scoured clean of paint, and the dull metal creaked and steamed in the mist.

"'Miracle we landed' indeed." He remarked.

* * *

 _Footnotes_

* * *

(1): Despite possessing open-point teleportation technology, most Protectorate shuttlecraft are built to be able to land on planets, usually in the case of a non-functioning teleporter, or exceptional situations.

(2): Many planets within even the most populous areas of known space aren't colonized to this day, and boom-town settlements often occur on worlds rich in exotic ores or containing archeological value.

(3): The Terrene Protectorate Archeological Corps, currently headed by the former Grand Protector Esther Bright, is an organization dedicated to the study of the various ancient empires through the study of their ruins and artifacts. Due to the growing instability with the Miniknog Regime, they had lost much of their funding in lieu of keeping the Protectorate Military Forces in a state of readiness.

(4): Protectorate shuttlecraft, and indeed many designs of shuttlecraft, use series of micro-thrusters to maintain hover in gravity. Damage to these in such extensive manner as to leave the ship unable to completely compensate for a tilt can be extremely precarious for the shuttle and its occupants, as it risks spinning out of control and crashing.

(5): PArCorps stands for Protectorate Archeological Corps.

(6): If the ruins belong to either the Ancients, or the Ancient and Powerful RAMpire, the ruins tend to be fairly advanced, often even surpassing Protectorate technology in some regard or another. Often they also tend to be guarded if they are especially valuable.

(7): Adaptive Vaccinations (AVs) are the predominant reason why most interstellar endeavors aren't hamstrung by pathogens of one form or another. The Terrene Protectorate requires that protectors receive these in order to actually be recruited. They were one of the earlier, more successful, efforts to re-create floran greenfinger biotechnology, and as such, are very common, even among lesser states.

(8): As not all travelers seem to pack compasses, nor may they always have a planetary surface map available, "orbital" cardinal directions have come into use as a crude form of navigation with a single guideline: The local star rises in the 'east' and sets in the 'west'. Naturally, this only really works for single star systems, and non-tidally-locked worlds.


End file.
